


Mornings Aren't Meant For Weeping

by millipii



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, And no one dies, Angst, Drunk Thomas, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, James is a precious cinnamon roll, M/M, Morning Kisses, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:45:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipii/pseuds/millipii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(In which James has too much coffee, Hamilton is late for class, and Thomas gets very, very drunk.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings Aren't Meant For Weeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAlmightyMochaLatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlmightyMochaLatte/gifts).



> for TheAllMightyMochaLatte because I've been waiting forever to post this and you've threatened me over it so here have this.

 "Shit." James stumbled over the cobblestone steps leading up to his lecture hall, fumbling through the air to grasp the stray papers that fell from his grip. He grit his teeth, clenching his early American history essay tighter in his hands. The quick act of tripping did surprisingly little to bring James out of his bleary, sleep deprived stance. Which was disappointing, seeing as the two cups of coffee he had already consumed earlier that morning hadn't helped, either.

James' eyes dropped slightly as he entered the room. Not a single head lifted in acknowledgement of his presence. James shifted the strap of his satchel uncomfortable and ducked his head down slightly, moving to take his place near the back of the room. 

 A quick glance at his watch told him that he was nearly twenty minutes early, as usual. He sighed in relief. Professor Washington had a habit of starting class before the students had actually arrived. Since the semester had begun, James found he had acquired a new level of punctuality that would put even Alexander Hamilton to shame, which was previously thought to be an impossible task. 

 (Alexander never seemed to be late for anything. Even when James arrived an hour early to speak to the professor, Alexander was there waiting outside the door, eagerly taking notes on some biography the rest of the class hadn't even gotten to yet. It was borderline stalker behaviour.)

As he slid into the familiar cramped seating in the very last row, something caught his eye: an emptiness of something that was usually wholly occupied. The very front centre seat was... Empty? James furrowed his brow, concern twisting his stomach sharply.  

Hamilton was... Absent? Late? Sick?

Taking inventory of the other vaguely familiar faces in the room, James could see that the student not sleeping on their desks were also looking around worriedly. If Hamilton wasn't there, something serious had to have happened. Like, apocalyptic-level serious. 

James warily unpacked his bag slowly, attempting to dismiss the uneasy feeling he had about Hamilton. Instead, his attention was grabbed by his half full thermos. The lukewarm remains of his third cup of coffee sloshes around in the container invitingly, and James greedily inhaled its contents without mercy. There was absolutely no way he would've survived without it.

 Turning his attention to his essay, scanning for errors one last time and tuning out the rest of the people in the room, James nearly didn't notice the dark figure who practically melted into the chair next to him.

"Um," James stated in surprise at the disruption. He could only look on with a baffled expression at the clearly half asleep stranger who had stumbled into his personal space. 

 A ragged black hoodie covered his head, with tufts of messy black hair spilling out. The rest of his body was sprawled over the small surface of the chair and desk, though the strangers height made the wood seem even smaller. Slim black jeans clung to his thighs _just so_ , and when he turned to James, the latter couldn't help but letting out a small squeak of surprise because _hot damn_. 

 He had to be one of the most attractive people James had ever seen. The lazy frown that played at the corners of his lips, the small mole at the edge of his temple that James had to restrain himself from pressing his lips to...

"Hey, gorgeous," the newcomer mumbled. A yawn was dragged from his lips, slow and deep, making James shift uncomfortably in his seat. Was he flirting? Was this just how he was with everyone? He had barely let two words slip, and yet James found himself smitten.

"You look like you could use some coffee," James remarked, half amused, half holy-shit-he's-way-outta-my-league. The guy smirked, reaching down to deposit his bag on the floor and coming up with a sizable thermos that rivaled even James, who was a self-proclaimed caffine addict (out and proud).

"Don't worry about me, darling," he drawled, placing the mug on his desk with a soft plunk. "I'm prepared." 

James proceeded to choke on his own drink, flushing. How was it possible to make such a simple remark sound like something... more?

The sound of heeled boots clattering across the floor pulled James' attention from the undeniably striking stranger next to him and to the daunting empty chalkboard at the front of the room, in front of which stood a leather skinned man with hardened eyes. A soft hush came over the class at the proffessor's military-esque postrure. Washington glared, boring holes straight into each student's head, his lips permenantly drawn into a sneer, as if to say  _"so, you think you can pass this class? Think again."_

It was no secret that Professor Washington's class was especially difficult. James stiffened instinctively, drawing back his shoulders in a last-ditch effort to prove his merit. The action was in vain: Proffessor Washington had made it unabashedly clear that his favourite student was Alexander. The only thing James had in common with his teacher was the fact that they were both from Virginia.

 "The Whiskey Rebellion." Washington's voice carried over the slumped heads and bleary eyes of the students, hanging heavily in the air. It was not an answer, nor a question. There was a brief pause, momentarily interrupted by someone's seasonal allergies, before he spoke again.

"Who can give us a brief description of the Whiskey Rebellion?" Even from his perch near the back wall, James could still see the professor's eyebrow shoot up at the foremost chair, still devoid of one Alexander Hamilton. The word "rebellion" faltered slightly at the man's evident surprise at the absense of his stalker.

 As the shaken professor continued with his lecture, James disregarded note-taking in favour of twiddling his pen between his thumb and forefinger, staring discretely out of the corner of his eyes at the nearly-sleeping stranger beside him. He was still collapsed over his notes, slender fingers clawing almost desperately at the lid of his thermos, too tired to manage to uncap it. James hovered uncertainly. Should he help him? Or just leave the guy to live in his sleepy haze?

The mug teetered precariously at the edge of the desk. James' neighbor didn't seem to notice.

"Do you, um, need help with that?" James' hesitant whisper flew from his lips before he could stop them.  _Don't embarass yourself in front of him_ , James screamed internally.  _Don't. Fuck. This. Up._

 The guy blinked slowly. In a flash, he had popped the lid off the thermos, shoved it into his bag, and shuffled his set of notes into something that was almost organized.

"Uh, no. No thanks." James was pleased to see a light blush dusting his dark complexion. "I'm a fully functioning adult. I promise."

 A soft chuckle burst from James, which in turn earned a grin from the stranger. The flash of white momentarily took James' breath away and left him seeing stars. Why did this guy have to be so damn  _perfect?_

"I'm Thomas by the way. Probably should've introduced myself sooner." James felt his heart take a flying leap out of his chest. The name felt like chocolate, smooth and sweet on his tongue. Thomas, Thomas,  _Thomas_. It was like James was falling deeper, even when he previously thought that putting a name to the face would relieve him of the stress.

Thomas coughed lightly, causing James to stutter out a reply. His cheeks blazed.

"I'm James. Madison. James Madison." He could feel his inner extrovert cringing in disgust. "Uh, hello?" He extended his hand awkwardly, barely bending his elbow due to the tight space. Thomas merely blinked owlishly at it before quirking up a corner of his lip and turning back to his coffee. James cursed under his breath.  _Fuck._

"What was that, James?" Thomas peered up at James through his hair.

"Nothing. Sorry." _You're really fucking hot when you say my name_. Yep, James was never going to pursue a job that has to do with talking to people. Mainly, talking to hot guys with adorable names and legs that went on for days.

The next half of the lecture was full of sneaked glances to James' right and the worst notes he had ever taken in his life. There was nothing more James wanted except to be able to grab Thomas by his shoulders and lean in and smash their lips together (along with other unspeakable things).

Patience, as he figured out, was easier said than done, and the frequent glances at the clock did little to serve as a distraction. After half an hour had passed, the gentle snoring coming from Thomas gave James access to unlimited oogling. Which he took full advantage of, taking the time during Thomas' nap to memorise the curve of his back, the soft arch of his fingers as they gripped the thermos...

He was so engrossed in Thomas that he didn't notice the sound of the door being thrown open on it's rusted hinges or the sound of footsteps stampeding down the hall, until his eyes drifted back to the front of the room just in time to see the door yanked open by none other than Alexander Hamilton.

He was, in short, a mess. Alex's uncombed hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, which hung limply at the nape of his neck. Sweat carved rivers into his features, dampening his earthy sweatpants, and James could even make out the expression on his face - Alex was scared shitless. His fists were clenched, clinging to the strap of his bag as if it would save him from the definite wrath of Professor Washington.

"Sorry I'm late, sir, I just don't know what happened! You see, to put it simply, I-" Alex's breathy excuses were dismissed coldly, silenced by one chilled glare from the professor, whose face began to splotch red with anger. Interrupted while scrawling something about an army on the pitch-black chalkboard, Washington barely paused to point a damning finger at Alex's empty chair.

"Sit," he commanded. It was as if everyone in the room flinched at the same time. Alexander slunk in like a puppy who had been scolded (the mental image was rather amusing to James, seeing as the boy's personality was canine-like as well).

Depositing his books on the floor and immidietly scribbling down everything on the board, Alex managed to regain some of his composure. James furrowed his brow. What caused Alex to be so late in the first place? And in such a state of dissarry?

"So, looks like Hamilton has returned." Thomas' lifted his head from his desk as he spoke, words spoken spitefully and with a venom that was surprisingly harsh coming from a person such as himself. James nodded, leaning in slightly to whisper his concerns.

"Yeah," he said, gaze flitting between Thomas and Alexander. "But I'm confused as to why he was out in the first place. He's-"

"Never late," Thomas quipped. This caused James to fumble a bit with his coffee. "I know. It's infuriating, isn't it?" Thomas sighed softly, glaring into his coffee with an unreadable expression. James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to complain about the same person who had helped him write his 25 essay portfolio for Madame Reynolds' class.

"He's a bit... overenthusiastic about school, yes, but he kind of has to be," James offered, taking a sip of his drink and looking up at Thomas through half lidded eyes, waiting. The older boy snorted.

"That's an understatement," Thomas muttered. "Full ride, huh? Lucky bastard." A pause. "I think he's only top of the class because he's sleeping with the TA." Thomas gave a subtle nod, elegant and fluid in the movement, towards the stocky dark-haired man sitting behind a stack of paperwork a couple rows down from them.

James furrowed his brow, trying to recall the man's name with difficulty. 

"John Laurens, aka the one who slipped in behind Hamilton earlier," Thomas supplied.

"How could they both be late, and arrive at the same time?" 

"It's not that I'm spreading rumours or anything." John Laurens shot an unreadable glance across the room at Alexander, and James raised an eyebrow. "But they both looked  _thouroughly fucked_  when they came in." Thomas said flatly. It was James' turn to be amused as they both turned to watch Alexander curiously, trying to capture the almost wistful looks exchanged between the two men. A moment passed. "This is too early to be concerned about Hamilton's unhealthy sex life." A sigh escaped Thomas' lips as he shifted his body.

"Agreed. No sane person would ever schedule a lecture this early," James let a smile tug at his lips.

"Washington is most definitely the least sane professor here, if we're being honest."

Thomas suddenly reached down, his gloved hands disappearing into his satchel before drawing it out again clutching something silver. James felt himself leaning in, peering at whatever was between the other man's hands.

And then choked on air, because it was a flask.

"U-um, isn't it a bit early for a-alcohol?" James stuttered.

"Back to stutters and nervous laughter, I see," came the reply, which earned a small squeak of protest. "And anyways, if you're concerned about my health, don't be. There's not much else I can fuck up."

James didn't quite know how to respond, other than to flinch when Thomas flung his head back and took a long, long swig. He couldn't help but stare helplessly (and longingly?) at Thomas' arched neck, eyeing his arched neck as he seemingly downed the entire flask.

A loud smack of Thomas' lips signaled James that he was finished with his drink. He let a smile tug at the corner of his lips before he began to-

"Oh god. Are you drinking _more?_ "

"Listen. The concern is cute, James," at this, the mentioned flushed lightly. "But if I wanna get drunk off my ass because my life sucks and I hate mornings, I will. You literally cannot stop me."

Thus began the remaining hour of class, a Hell, which consisted of James sitting in silent, mortified terror as Thomas happily gave himself alcohol poisoning. 

James nearly cried.

**Author's Note:**

> on and off updates, there will be length. eventually.
> 
> thanks for reading! comment if you've seen the actual musical bc i'm curious and also slightly jealous.


End file.
